The Plague
"It looks clear.”
Scott’s gruff voice is hushed, wary, as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing. It’s understandable, considering what the world has become these days. Looking up from the knife I’ve been polishing, I grunt in disbelief before standing and sheathing the hunting blade in its holster and heading towards the boarded up door. There’s only a slight break in the wood-a way for us to see out into the barren lands beyond the house we’re holed up in and keep an eye out for Creatures. If we have to, there’s enough of a gap for the slim barrel of a rifle to fit through, with enough room to see what we’re shooting at.
“Let me see,” I rumble, and the older man backs away without a word of protest. He’s older than me by at least thirty years, but for some odd reason, this ragtag group has chosen me as their leader. I can’t quite understand why, but I haven’t protested yet. I probably won’t, considering that I’ve been keeping them alive for the past four months.
Stepping up to the peek hole, I peer out and bite my lip as I survey the scarred wasteland that had once been rich and full of life. Now it’s bleak, dead, and smoldering in several places. However, just as Scott had said, it’s clear of Creatures. Gripping the handle of my knife, I adjust my position to look out from another angle, and duck just in time to avoid being seen.
“Everyone, quiet,” I order, and immediately the small group of six hunkers down and shut their mouths. There’s the soft rasp of weapons being drawn, but I shake my head as a low, hissing groan sounds from outside. It’s a Flamer, from what I’d seen and the sound it makes. We listen to the way the ground sizzles as it walks by, and I can picture it so clearly.
Once upon a time it had been a man, but then the Plague had come and changed those affected into Creatures. Flamers were one of those, and any humanity they once had was gone-swallowed up by the magma that flows through their veins now, peeking through their charred, blackened skin like some kind of creature straight from Hell.
The shuffling thunder of steps halts for a moment, and I can just imagine it lifting its head to sniff at the air, scenting the wind like some sort of bloodhound. It roars then, a chilling, horrifying sound, and May presses her hand against her daughter’s mouth to muffle the tiny whimper that Emilee makes. I put a finger to my lips, shushing her soundlessly, and turn my head to press my ear against the wood that we’d hammered over the door to slow down anything that tried to get in. It’s rough against my ear, keeping me still so I don’t get an unwanted splinter.
I listen, my breath still in my lungs.
Slowly, eventually, the beast moves on, and once I can no longer hear it I let out the breath I’ve been holding, much to the relief of my straining lungs. Things are okay, for now, but soon enough we’re going to have to abandon the old farmhouse we’ve taken up residence in. We can’t stay here forever. Staying in on place is practically asking to be found, and I’m not going to let that happen.
I look at Joe, the man who’s close to my own twenty-seven years, and jerk my head towards Emilee. He nods and creeps over to her and her mother, calming and reassuring them that everything’s going to be alright without words. He wipes away Emilee’s tears, smiling at her gently, and I turn my attention away from them to deal with more pressing matters.
“We can’t stay here,” Sharon whispers, echoing my own earlier thoughts. I like Sharon. She’s a tough cookie, for being in her late forties. She’s also incredibly smart. “Jackson, we have to move soon, or they’ll find us.”
“I know,” I growl, looking into her worried brown eyes. She’s concerned about Emilee, too. The poor little thing is only six, far too young to have to deal with this kind of life. Far too young to have to run, and hide, and stay out of the acidic rain when it falls. If it falls. By my last count, it hasn’t rained in almost six weeks. Lucky for us, thankfully, because it’s enabled us to move farther faster. Where it is we’re going, I don’t know. No one does. We’re just trying to find somewhere safe. There’s no way of knowing if we’re the only ones left, or if there’s more out there. It’s times like that where hope is the only thing we have to hold onto. The last I knew, there were others, but they’re hiding, just like we are. All we can do is hide, and move in stealth. We move when the coast is clear, but I know the closest standing house is at least a mile away. All of the others have been destroyed-burned to the ground or wrecked beyond recognition by the Earthlings. It sounds so weird in my head, like something almost alien.
If only it was that simple.